


Sleeping

by JohnlockDragon (DearDarling)



Series: Retreat and Return [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Coma, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock Party, Multi, Pining, Uncle Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:26:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearDarling/pseuds/JohnlockDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is injured on a case and put in a coma. Sherlock remembers their relationship and guards John's son whilst John is "sleeping."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping

Sherlock’s lean fingers encircled John’s wrists, pining them against the wall above his head, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat.

“Mine” he whispered in John’s ear. John shivered, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock groaned, leaning in to press his aching lips against Johns.

***

Sherlock shook. He stared vacantly down at John’s silent form, alien wires poking at his pale skin under the cotton hospital sheets. A thick stubble cast shadows over Johns cheeks like a dark caress. Sherlock slowly reached for John, longing to intertwine their fingers, longing to bridge the space between them, but the familiar creek of the door made him remember himself as he quickly leant back. Funny, how even in this empty state, John could make him forget himself. Mary quietly closed the wards door with a click, a small boy tottering by her heels. The boy grinned, his smile lighting up the room as he hauled himself up onto John’s bed. As far as he was concerned, his father was merely asleep. Mary smiled sadly at Sherlock, a knowing look in her eyes, as the toddler proceeded to make himself comfortable on the bed. He suddenly seemed to register Sherlock’s presence in the room, and once again an easy smile spread across his face. Oh how Sherlock envied those easy smiles.

“Uncle Sherlock” he gurgled, his pudgy arms flying above his head as he made a general grabbing motion in Sherlock’s direction, almost flinging himself off the bed.

“Alfie” Sherlock whispered, scooping the toddler into his arms. “He’s sleeping” Alfie said, with such conviction Sherlock ached to believe him, but the memory was to sharp, engraved into his brain, impossible to delete. The two of them running from a scene, partners, adrenaline pumping through their veins, wild smiles plastered on their faces. Then John stumbling, falling to the ground, Sherlock’s knees buckling, a dark figure laughing through the fog. He looked down at Alfie.

“Of course, sleeping” he murmured, his hand stroking his sandy blonde hair, coarse yet smooth, so much like Johns it hurt. Mary perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to push John’s hair back off his forehead.

“How are you?” She asked Sherlock. A part of Sherlock wanted to blame her, to scream, to cry. It was her fault. If she had never left John, John would have never have been on that case, never had been with him. He would have been safe. Yet Sherlock could not help but thank Mary for those few precious months he had been allowed with John before he had so cruelly been snatched away. They had never confided in Mary, no one knew the full extent of their relationship. Yet Sherlock knew she knew there had been more between them than friendship.

“I’m alive” and it tears me apart he thought.

***

John’s feet padded through the living room, his bag landing on the sofa with a soft thud.

“Sherlock!” He called, wondering where the devil he had wondered off to this time. He heard a clatter in the kitchen.

“Damn” he whispered, dashing to the next room.

“Coffee?” Sherlock asked, smirking at the relief on Johns face.

“Please” he said, leaning against the kitchen sideboard, Sherlock brushing past him to plant a quick kiss on his lips.

“Is that all I get?” john grumbled, a smirk still playing on Sherlock’s lips.

***

Sherlock was selfish. He knew it was him who should have been lying silently on the hospital bed, not John. He had no one. Would Mycroft sit next to him all night? Would his parents pace impatiently up and down the corridors? John was deserving. He had a son. A beautiful blonde boy who could still giggle and laugh at the world, marvelling at its many secrets. A son who would one day grow up without a father. Mary would look after him, and Sherlock would teach him, but he understood what it was like to have a less than ideal childhood, and it pained him to see others in such a circumstance, especially if they were John’s son.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written like this and any feedback is greatly appreciated.  
> I don't know if it's appropriate to write another chapter or leave it as it is.
> 
> I continued this story starting before these events: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2097492 (sorry I couldn't figure out how to make a series I'm rubbish)


End file.
